


Such Stuff as Dreams

by ShortInsomniac98



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: "Something Smells Evil", Crowley Sleeps On Aziraphale's Couch, M/M, Missing Scene, Sleepy Crowley (Good Omens), Sorry Not Sorry, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 23:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortInsomniac98/pseuds/ShortInsomniac98
Summary: The night of the baby swap, Crowley is too drunk to drive, so he stays the night in the bookshop, opting to sleep on the sofa in Aziraphale's back room. Aaaand Aziraphale accidentally witnesses Crowley having a wet dream.





	Such Stuff as Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> In the Good Omens script book, it's canon that Crowley actually spent the entire night after the baby swap in Aziraphale's bookshop and only snuck out right as Gabriel and Sandalphon arrived, thus adding just a bit more meaning to the whole "Something smells evil" comment about Aziraphale's back room. Obviously they were just smelling that Crowley had been there, but some people (myself included) have joked that that was because Crowley and Aziraphale had sex in the back room. Here's a slightly...more likely scenario, in my opinion.
> 
> The title comes from William Shakespeare's The Tempest.

Crowley groaned, laying his head back on the back of the sofa. “Angel, I don’t think I can make the drive. Can I stay here tonight? I promise I won’t be a bother. I’ll just…”

He started to stand and fell back again onto the same spot on the sofa.

“…stay right here,” he concluded.

“Dear, you know you can always—” Aziraphale was going to say _sober up again_, but he remembered how worried Crowley had been when he told him everything about the Antichrist and Armageddon, and thought perhaps it would be better if he wasn’t alone tonight. So instead, he said, “—stay here. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said, curling up at one end of the sofa, laying his head on the armrest and pulling his legs up onto the cushions with him. “You’re too good to me.”

Aziraphale smiled as he stood and made his way over to retrieve his copy of _The Canterville Ghost_ from the shelf by his desk. He settled back into his chair across from where Crowley was already fast asleep on the sofa and opened his book.

The first hour went by peacefully with barely a snore from Crowley, allowing Aziraphale to get quite far into his book without interruption. But then, sometime around three o’clock, Crowley let out a soft hum and his brow furrowed. Aziraphale lowered his book and watched curiously as Crowley’s lips parted and his breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling noticeably.

“_Angel_,” Aziraphale could have sworn he heard him murmur. “_Hmm_…”

Aziraphale wondered if he should wake him, but between the inevitable bout of embarrassment that would no doubt come if he did and an unadmittable desire to see the result of whatever was getting Crowley so excited, he decided against it. At first, he tried to go back to reading, but after what could only be described as a clear and definite moan resounded from Crowley’s mouth, he set the book aside again, wondering briefly if he should leave him alone for whatever came next.

“_Fuck_,” Crowley breathed. “_Oh, fuck_.”

His hips moved slightly, and with a soft grunt, it was over. He relaxed again, his breathing slowed to normal, and he curled into himself sleepily.

“Well,” Aziraphale whispered, and he picked his book up again.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, the sound of which was enough to rouse Crowley from his sleep. Crowley opened his eyes, immediately visibly aware of what had happened. His eyes widened when they met Aziraphale’s.

“D’you say something?” he asked in an attempt to play it off like nothing had happened.

He raised an arm over his head and draped it over the armrest of the couch, and as he did, Aziraphale saw him wave his hand discreetly, more a microscopic flick of the wrist than a wave. One of his legs straightened uncomfortably an instant later, then bent again.

“No,” Aziraphale said, looking back down at this book to hide the smug grin that was playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Hm,” Crowley intoned, and rolled over, putting his back to Aziraphale. “Thought you might have done. Guess I’m hearing things,” he muttered.

“I haven’t said a word, dear,” Aziraphale said.

“’Night then.”

“Good night.”


End file.
